Time and Chance
by Anjel Starlight
Summary: It's funny how glitter, gunshots, and a bathroom stall got Blaine Anderson to ask Kurt out. Now a collection of one-shots. Season 2 AU, Shooting Star, BadBoy!Blaine
1. Just a Chance

**A/N: As some of you know, I took off last week from posting because I needed some time to think about things and I just didn't have inspiration because my muse was on vacation... or something. Anyways, this came to me a few days ago and avalanched a writing frenzy. So this won't be the last thing you see from me this week. Keep your eyes open! **

**This one is weird and not what you're expecting... and just a dash of comedy.**

**Warnings: Season 2 AU, BadBoy!Blaine, ****_Shooting Star_**** AU, Kurt angst**

**Triggers: I'm not really sure what to call them, but ****_Shooting Star_**** should give you an idea.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

He had just been washing his hands.

Brittany had decided that after lunch was the perfect time to attack Kurt with glitter and ribbons, a surprise for his birthday that was still three weeks away. Luckily the glitter was much less tossed at him as it was handed to him in handfuls as she pulled it out of her purse; which, she explained, was the most sensible place to hide glitter when surprising someone.

Kurt was no less surprised that her logic made sense; Brittany had this amazing way to show her brilliance that not a lot of people understood... unless you thought about it like Kurt did. He had plenty of time to do so. Considering she and Santana were the only ones that seemed to be talking to him right now, and because he talked less now it gave him plenty of time to observe and think. The more he thought about Brittany and her, seemingly crazy, statements-the more she began to make sense and reveal what a truly observing she was.

So yes, Kurt was surprised by her glitter attack, and a little annoyed at how much effort it was taking to get it off. Glee club was going to start without him and he would be stuck sitting in the back row again, a place that seemed to plague him no matter if it was in the music room or on stage—it was rather frustrating. His pace was hurried but he tried to remain thorough, the last thing he needed was to be teased further by literally spreading "fairy dust" because the glitter would not come off.

It also did not help that the bathroom smelled of cigarette-smoke, car-grease and leather.

Kurt was all too familiar with those combined scents and what—well, _who_ it entailed was also in the bathroom, holed up in one of the stalls. Though he was curious to see if he was correct, Kurt refused to acknowledge the want to see the boy defined in Kurt's mind by those smells... and so much more.

But Kurt was only human and his slight (read: huge) obsession (read: crush) on the boy caused him to look for the tell-tail signs of smoke from the top of the stalls as he dried his hands. It was kind of hard to tell with how much sun-light was bleeding into—

_BANG_

His whole body jolted, nerves lighting up all over his body, readying him for pain. Blue-eyes snapped to the bathroom door when he realized the loud noise came from the hall. It sounded almost like the locker-slams he was so familiar with.

Hence, his readiness for pain.

Could some jock be working his way through people on his way to class? Sounds plausible enough. Maybe they are even working their way to the bathroom, because that was loud enough that it sounded close to—

_BANG_

His body was moving even before he could process that that _sound_ was _not_ a locker-slam. Just as he was closing and locking the stall door, he realized how utterly stupid he was for hiding in here when that was _gunshot_ he just heard. There was no trying to even reason his way through what the sound _might_ have been, because it was a _gunshot_. Now he was trapped in a bathroom that did not have a lock on the main door, so all that was protecting him was a flimsy metal door with clear gaps around it.

"Kurt?"

Never the less, Kurt climbed onto the toilet seat, crouching so that his footing was more stable on the slanted seat.

"Kurt."

The screams from the hall were making his knees shake, so his hands shot out to brace himself on the stall walls on either side of him.

"_Kurt_."

He snapped up, back straightening when he realized that someone was calling his name... from the stall on his left. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered back, his voice cracking and not quite cooperating.

"Just wanted to know you're with me," the other boy, Blaine, whispered back.

Before Kurt could respond (or think of the implications of Blaine's statement), the bathroom door slammed open and quick paced feet rushed through the bathroom; his whole body just about gave out. Blue eyes quickly welled up with tears, and he pressed a hand to his mouth as someone began to check the stall doors, but he could not stop the whimper in his throat.

First stall door shook—locked.

His vision blurred completely, _This person could be the gunman!_

Second stall door shook—locked.

Tears began to slip unbidden down his cheeks as the person grew closer, _Don't cry... Don't cry..._

Kurt's stall door shook—it remained locked... and he was proud of himself for remaining quiet; not even caring that his muscles ached slightly from how tightly he had locked up.

Feet quickened to the fourth stall, and the someone could be heard muttering "Come on, come on, come on". The stall opened and then closed even quicker and locked, the person in the stall next to Kurt shuffled around before finally the seat clanked, signaling they too were perched on the toilet.

He choked back a sob, the sound almost seemed to echo in the now silent room; rationally he knew that he was exaggerating—but this was not a rationally situation. Kurt pressed his hand tighter to his mouth, bending over in an effort to keep any more sound from escaping.

_Daddy,_ he let himself think—let himself call out to the man that would be unable to hear him...

His phone!

_Plip_

Blue eyes widened as he realized that his phone was in his bag... that was just on the other side of the stall door... and if it went off... the shooter would hear and come here.

But Kurt was too petrified to move, to either get his phone and put it on silent or call his dad.

_Plip_

He wanted to talk to his dad. He wanted to tell him he loved him. He wanted to be wrapped up in his arms and be held so tightly that it became undeniable that he was loved back. He wanted to be called "Kiddo" and "Buddy" and "Son" a million more times. He wanted to go to the garage and come home covered in grease and complaining about customers and how he needs a longer face moisturizing routine. He wanted to pretend to watch a football game with his dad while actually reading a magazine or watching Project Runway on his phone. He wanted to sneer at his dad's flannel while hearing him grumble about how many clothes he received in the mail that day. He wanted to cook his dad healthy food and hear him complain.

He just wanted his dad.

_Plip_

...but his phone was on the other side of the door.

_Plip_

Kurt could not make himself move to get it because—what if the shooter came in just as he was and shot Kurt? He would never get the chance to say goodbye to his dad.

_Plip_

...he would never get the chance right now either.

Not unless he went for his phone.

_Plip_

_What is that stupid dripping sound?!_ Kurt looked around wildly, as if he could see through the stall walls and find the source of the sound (and tell it to "Shut up!"); as he blinked in his search, he felt the tears slip easily down his cheeks before falling... _dripping_ into the bowl below him.

He choked back another sob... this time it was definitely echoed...

His eyes widened further, looking up at the stall wall he was braced against in shock.

...he was not the only one here... the only one crying.

_I'm not alone,_ he looked around himself again, willing the power of x-ray vision to be suddenly bestowed on him; so that he could actually _see_ these people in here with him. _Blaine's here too._

Despite the supposedly comforting thought... it did not make him feel any better.

_BANG_

"Ah!" someone cried out in the bathroom, echoing sniffles and other types of cries in the wake of the third shot.

It seemed further away than the last two, but no less frightening—because now they knew that the shooter was, in fact, moving around the school.

_Plip_

Kurt closed his eyes, the only thing he could find himself doing to prevent more tears. He refused to move his hand from his mouth, knowing (however irrationally) that it was the only thing stopping him from making unnecessary noises. His other hand was the only thing keeping him standing up right, with how weak his knees were at the moment... So obviously, he could not spare a hand to wipe his own _damn_ tears.

The whole being quiet thing—could not be said for the newest edition to the bathroom, though.

While initially she had been as quiet as the other occupants, this girl was quickly turning hysterical.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die—" she chanted, the toilet seat clanking and squeaking under her shifting feet.

As her cries grew louder, the distress of the other occupants grew, Kurt included. While his deeper breathing was the only noises he was letting out, Kurt felt like he was being the loudest one—

"Shh," a boy shushed from the other side of Kurt. "Do you want _them_ to hear you?"

_Blaine... Blaine's here... He's really here._

Everyone quieted immediately, frozen in their own breaths as if the shooter was on the other side of the bathroom door—which was quite possible...

So they all remained quiet, only the quiet sniffs and occasional shuffles were heard for—

_How long has it been? Did the shooter get anyone else? How many did they hurt... kill?_ Kurt shuttered, before wincing as his knees moved, pain throbbing from his prolonged position. _I want to get out of here! I want my dad!_

The bathroom door opened... and someone stepped in.

Whoever entered the bathroom stayed just as silent as everyone in the stalls, their footsteps light and slow—almost like a predator stalking prey (which Kurt chose to ignore as what was really happening). Cautious, but alert and ready. They continued to move into the room, facing the stalls as if they were playing a game on which stall to choose.

_Eeny..._

The person walked by the first stall, their footsteps growing louder as they moved toward Kurt—or maybe that was just his heart?

_Miny..._

Definitely his heart.

They walked by the second stall to the point Kurt could see them—_him_ through the crack in the stall. Kurt clenched his eyes closed, though, not wanting to see him any more than he wanted to open the stall door himself. But Kurt forced his eyes back open... because what if he went away, Kurt would need to be able to describe him to the police when—

The man stopped in front of the stall Kurt was hiding in, head swiveling—Kurt closed his eyes again, hand pressing harder to his mouth so that he did not sob aloud.

_Moe._

"Kurt?"

It took only a second for his brain to register exactly _who_ was on the other side of the stall door.

"Mr. Schue?" Kurt stumbled off the toilet and unlatched the lock, throwing open the door to find his music teacher on the other side of it. There was such a sense of relief that he could not help but throw himself at the man, clinging to him as Kurt was wrapped up in kind. He tried to form more words, even managing to move his mouth, but nothing was coming out. So Kurt remained silent, holding onto Mr. Schue.

The other occupied bathroom stalls opened, three other teens stepping out cautiously before recognizing the adult standing before them. Kurt stepped away from the teacher as they came out, but looking directly at Blaine as Mr. Schue began to talk in quiet tones, telling all of them about where they were going and how close and silent they all needed to be. Hazel eyes continued to hold Kurt's own and they could both see how shaken and shocked each other was; how utterly destroyed they both felt. That they were both in this together... still.

Mr. Schue took Kurt's hand before walking quietly back over to the door and surveying the hall before he made his way out of the bathroom, four teenagers trailing closely behind him.

But Kurt felt disconnected from it all. It seemed a little too surreal to him anyways. He had just been locked in a bathroom stall with someone with a gun running around the school, the boy of his dreams trapped right next to him... then all of a sudden his Glee club teacher comes in to get him? Specifically him? With all the shit he has had to deal with this whole year, now someone pays attention? Now Blaine looks at him like that? Holds his hand?

Kurt's eyes, which had been fixated on the back of Mr. Schue's head up until this point, trail down to his once free hand, now being held firmly in Blaine's. He can't bring himself to look up at Blaine though, because the sense of reality began to bleed back into his mind through their touch.

They were exposed. Out in the middle of the hallway, sneaking off to the choir room, while at any second the person who had been shooting a gun off could be just around the corner?

Or a cop, dressed in full black, which scared the crap out of everyone in the small group just as they reached the classroom door. After a few knocks they all shuffle in and the door is barricaded behind them.

Kurt's unsure what to do now that he was in the choir room. He knows he should sit down, out of the way of the windows, but where? With who? He is pulled into a boy's side before he could think any further on it, pulled down alongside him by the piano and backs against the front cabinets.

"Kurt," the boy (Blaine, Kurt realized), whispered into his ear, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, "I was so pissed I couldn't hold you while we were in those stalls."

The blue eyed teen ducked his head as a jolt of fear ran through him, his own arms slipping around Blaine's waist as he pressed his face into the other teen's neck, the scent of leather, cigarettes, and grease filling his senses. But again, his voice escaped him and all he could bring himself to do in response, was nod.

"You were crying and I couldn't comfort you," Blaine growled lightly, his arms tightening, "and I was so scared that I would never get to tell you I liked you, or ask you out on a date, or get to kiss you... or see my parents or brother again."

They clung to each other harder, not wanting to think too hard on what could have been.

Though the tension of the situation still hung heavily in the air, Kurt could still feel the curious gazes directed at him and Blaine... because it was _Blaine_. Blaine Anderson, the guy that took shit from no one, the guy that was openly gay and made anyone pay for just looking at him wrong, the guy that skipped French and History to smoke under the bleachers but still passed with flying colors, the guy that punched Karofsky in the face first day he arrived for slushing him, the guy that keyed Kurt's Navigator for parking too close to his bike, the guy that inspired the school's prom with his 60's retro bad boy look, the guy that got caught fighting with Noah more than anyone else... the guy that stopped Kurt's bullying and unintentionally began his school-wide isolation.

Kurt could care less. Blaine had eventually apologized for the wrongs he did Kurt and they talked every once and while after, but there had never been too much interaction between them other than those few times. Likes were discussed, hates at one point, what they wanted to do with their lives and where it would be, family once and never again... Kurt had always thought that he had been singular in his attraction. Just because they were both being openly gay did not mean that they would date or anything, there was a much bigger world than Lima, Ohio; and even more gay men in it. So it really did not mean anything, just another thing that they had in common.

But he could dream and fantasize and wonder.

That Blaine actually felt the same way had never even crossed Kurt's mind, and now that it was out in the open, how could he _not_ think about it?

"All clear!"

As that sentiment echoed throughout the halls, Kurt seemed to disconnect from himself again. Everyone in the room was in a group circle and hugging, then separating and on their phones, then they were walking outside and there were cops and teenagers and parents all over the place. It was cluttered and confusing and fuzzy and Kurt felt like he just might float away, except the hand that was holding his tightly kept him grounded as the stood among the chaos.

"Kurt! Buddy!" an all too familiar voice called from just ahead of them, mixed in with all the other cries and shouts of the mass of people, but standing out all on its own. When Kurt looked up and saw his dad making his way through everyone, like he was fighting his way through a forest of unmoving bodies, the whole situation came slamming down onto his shoulders in an avalanche.

He bolted forward, hand released, "Daddy!" and the thing that he wanted the most not too long ago happened, he was wrapped up in his dad's arms and it felt like coming home. Burt picked his son up off the ground and held him tightly; letting Kurt cry into his shoulder as the teen felt the tears from his dad wet his shirt.

"You're okay. You're okay," whether it was said in order to assure Kurt or to be assured, neither parent nor child could tell as it could be taken by both and it was true either way. "I've got you."

"I love you, dad! I was so scared I wouldn't get to tell you that again and I—"

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Kiddo," Burt rubbed his son's back as much as he could while still holding him up. "You don't need to worry about that, I know you do. I would rather you worry about yourself... Actually, no. It's not your job to worry, that's mine." The large man set the teen down onto his feet, pulling back to look down at his son while holding him close, the fear of losing him beginning to ebb away, "Let's go home and you pretend to watch a football game while I complain about the salad you'll make me eat. Sound good, Buddy?"

Kurt choked on a sob, cheeks warm from tears and his dad's flannel covered shoulder, "Sounds amazing."

With Burt's arm draped across his shoulders and an arm stretched out across his dad's back in return, Kurt was ushered through the swarm and out towards the parking lot while he gently wiped his eyes and cheeks free of tears.

That was until someone called out to him... again.

"Hey, Hummel!"

Kurt turned to find Blaine walking up to him, two finely dressed adults hot on his heels. Blaine's parents, Kurt assumed, looked absolutely as wrecked as Kurt felt; but his view of them was quickly blocked by Blaine—holding his messenger bag.

"Oh, my bag," he whispered, reaching out to accept it and jumping slightly when their hands met in the exchange. When Kurt looked up, the "Thank you," even quieter than his last words, Blaine looked shy and smiled slightly before turning to the side, hands shoved into his jeans. Thinking (however disappointedly) that Blaine was done talking, Kurt turned back towards the parking lot.

"Hey, Hummel," Blaine went on to say, looking at the taller boy shyly before a cocky smirk came over his lips, mask of the bad-boy firmly in place, "You owe me a date."

Just as quickly as the shock of the comment came, so did some of Kurt's sass, "If you ask properly, I just might think about it."

"Baby," Blaine responded with a dirtier smirk, shoulder lifting in a slight shrug, "if we did things properly, it wouldn't be half as fun." With that said, Blaine fully turned towards his parents, their arms slipping around him as they walked to their own car.

Kurt bit his lip and looked down at his hand holding his bag's strap, purposely ignoring the look his dad was sure giving him over the exchange, because he just was not ready to deal with that kind of back-lash right now.

...and Blaine was right. It would be boring.

But Blaine better be prepared how _not_ boring it was going to be getting Kurt to say "Yes" to that date.

* * *

**A/N: So that's that. Like I said, it's a little weird... and I don't do this normally, but this one is out there enough that I'm actually asking you to tell me what you think. **

**Anyways, that's it for this.**

**Until next time,**

**Anjel Starlight**


	2. A Matter of Time

**A/N: Hello all! Yes, you are not seeing things. I live and I am posting on Wednesday. Why you ask? Oh, well, I just wanted to celebrate my six month anniversary of posting on FF with all of you, as well as the one week, one day count down to you-know-what! I've got one more to post tonight and I'll post a few things tomorrow. I realize I am behind with ****_Lay Me to Rest_**** but it just does not want to be written right now, but I will finish it! I've outlined the whole plot and the end is near. Anyways, onto the formalities and then the story!**

**So, special treat: I've decided to turn this into a one-shot collection of all the ideas that come to me about Badboy!Blaine, I've twisted a few ideas to fit this universe as all the one-shots will be done. Like the last chapter, this one is not what you may be expecting when it come to Klaine, but it will be Klaine.**

**Warnings: Season 2 AU, BadBoy!Blaine, Kurt angst, bullying angst**

**Triggers: bullying and the angst from it, and maybe the need to throw this at the screen while giving Kurt a cuddle...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

When Kurt Hummel looked at Blaine Anderson, he did not see the typical bad-boy image that was marketed in movies and TV shows. He saw a boy that was out of style for the era. His frizzy, mussed-up, curls flopping around his head, hanging in front of his eyes and down his neck, just shy of his shoulders. Eyes constantly cast down at the ground with his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched forward, but not from fear or insecurity—just simple indifference to everything and everyone.

His attire—which Kurt never failed to criticize anyone's—over worn and practically falling apart boots, over-sized and torn-at-the-knee jeans, flannel shirt tied at his waist, and loose white tee, were all very much out of style. Under further inspection, the young fashionista found that the clothes were all well-worn but their condition, clean and well kempt, proved that the young man wearing them cared for his clothes—maybe even because they were the only ones he had.

Though that was just speculation and it only came from the first time he saw Blaine Anderson.

In fact, the whole reason he had looked at him in the first place was because he was currently facing down Karofsky not feet from Kurt's own locker—and by Karofsky being there it meant a... well, _the_ slushie that was just thrown at Blaine—and by facing down he meant punching Karofsky in the face and—

_Wait, what?_

"Oh my—" Kurt quickly pushed himself away from his locker and across the small hall, barely being missed by the two figures now grappling against the row of lockers. The shorter, less bulky, and just all around smaller of the two got the upper hand quickly and proceeded to slam the football player repeatedly against the lockers—one of which was Kurt's that had been slammed closed in the struggle.

Kurt holds his breath—only to release it when the two moved and he notices that his new, knit sweater did not get caught in the door of his locker. He would have been livid if it had, Kurt had just got it in yesterday. The sweater itself was perfect for the mildly cold weather they would have before winter, but also go nicely with his Dorian Grey pea-coat and quite a few of his scarves as the winter grew harsher. It was the last one in his size and he was more than excited to have beaten anyone else to it, especially for the price.

After a few seconds more of relief, he turns his attention back to the fighting young men, even if their heated struggle had calmed enough for Karofsky to get the point that, despite his size, he was not going to win against Blaine.

_That_ was more than thrilling to Kurt, Karofsky finally getting just a tiny taste of the humiliation that he and his Neanderthal brethren put Kurt through every day. The locker shoves, tripping, name-calling until it was just plain nonsense—

The teen gasped and looked back at his locker, surveying it for any kind of dents or dings. The last thing Kurt needed was even the slightest incentive for people to take jabs at him.

He could hear it now: "Wow, Lady! Even your locker is bent!"

Luckily, there were none.

The blue-eyed teen let out another sigh of relief. At least he would be spared that—

_CLACK_

Kurt jumped and turned wide eyes back to the two teens, which were no longer struggling as much as panting with Blaine taking slow measured steps back while Karofsky was slumped against the lockers. The thicker teen looked miffed but angry, as if he needed to attack Blaine again to prove himself but too shocked and confused to do so. While Blaine's stance was ready to pounce again, feet braced to charge back in at the slightest movement his way.

It was fortunate that Blaine had pulled back when he did because around the corner came Figgins and because he did not witness anything (Oh, how Kurt was all too familiar with _that_ statement.) there was nothing he could do other than to dismiss the crowd and tell everyone to go to where they are supposed to be. For Kurt that was lunch, which he ate by himself under the bleachers so it was okay if he was late. As the hall was clearing of students and Figgins turned one last glare to the lingering students, Kurt took in Blaine again.

His once white shirt was now stained red, rivets of color leaking over his shoulders and down his stomach. He was swiping vigorously at the small chunks of ice that were clinging to his hair and clothes. It was more than clear that he was furious at what had happened and although Kurt did not know Blaine, had not talked to him and had only really heard about him (McKinley does not get many new students, even if they do move over the summer—it's still Lima, Ohio, most dull, empty, and boring place in the world. People just did not move here.) through whispers in the hall and in glee club; but he felt connected to the teen in this one small way.

So Kurt felt a little bold.

He went back up to his locker and opened it with a flourish of his combination, pulling out a small towel he kept there for just this reason and held it out towards Blaine. "Here," Kurt said. He was shocked to find the boy's eyes were this honey-gold color that he had never seen before and it caused him to stutter just slightly, "I-It's not much, but it happens a lot, so you can use this." As Blaine continues to stare at him untellingly (which Kurt is _so_ not used to. Teenage boys just did not look at him other than to sneer.), Kurt becomes increasingly uncomfortable and looks away, towel still held out as an offer and making him feel more vulnerable than he ever has before. He just did not do this type of thing anymore. Putting himself out there, even if it was only a towel; he did not talk to people initially, try to be friendly or look at them. So now he was embarrassed, _And he comes the word-vomit_. "Red is the worst on whites. It doesn't seem like it ever wants to come out. But blueberry is the one to watch out for because otherwise you'll end up looking like a smurf because the dye gets to your skin fast. Oh! Right! I have a spare shirt if you want to borrow that. It isn't anything fancy, just a spare gym—"

Blaine's eyes turned hard suddenly, taking Kurt in from the top of his head and down to his worn sneakers. His lip pulled back in a sneer, "I don't want hand-outs from closet-cases." With that, he turned and left.

Kurt's stomach dropped. His eyes settled on staring at the still out stretched towel and he felt the most foolish he had ever felt. The one time in weeks he has talked to anyone at school outside the teachers and the few glee club members that dared to talk to him, and he gets being gay thrown back in his face by a teen that just move here. Someone, who just met him for the first time, would rather walk around sticky and covered in dye than accept Kurt's help.

He tried to not let the tears fall, but the hurt of being bullied, humiliated, and isolated was also just so -much- that he could not help it at times. The choked sob broke the dam though.

The blue-eyed teen placed the towel back into his locker and picked up the sack lunch he packed, like the ones he made every day to avoid having to go to the cafeteria. Tears, sliding unbidden down his cheeks, did not blur his vision enough for him to not make it to the bleachers, to one of the few fold-out chairs set up under them. He set the bag in his lap but did not eat. He was not hungry. Eating was not going to make him feel better.

...but crying would. So he cried.

* * *

"Hi, Kurt!"

"Good to see you join us today."

"We certainly need the help."

Kurt smiled as he walked into his dad's garage and was greeted warmly by everyone, but none as warm as his father's.

"Hey, Kiddo," Burt said and took him into a one armed hug with the less greased hand.

"Dad," the teen responded quietly, "You're lucky I'm not wearing my McQueen today or you would be paying for dry-cleaning."

The man snorted and gave his son on pat on the shoulder, "Yeah, yeah. But this is what you get for wearing plain clothes... which I meant to ask you about this morning." Burt walked back over to the car he had been working on, expecting Kurt to follow him and answer the question that he really did not ask.

Kurt rolled his eyes, "It's your fault."

"My fault?"

The teen was given a confused look but his dad did not remove himself from under the hood of the car so Kurt had to lean down, "Yes, your fault. You were the one to decide that you needed to remodel the locker room during the school year, leaving me no place to leave my clothes to hang safely except for my car; and I am not leaving them to be wrinkled because there is really no room for them to fully hang in there. Laying them out across the back seat is also—"

"Okay, okay. Retract the claws, Buddy," Burt said with a laugh. "Suit up, choice your weapon and let's get to work."

The blue-eyed teen sighed and huffed, turning on his heel to go put on his own cover-alls. His dad did have a little unhealthy obsession with _How I Met Your Mother_ and in turn Barney, always repeating quotes and copying his speech style. It was funny at times, but Kurt had not had the best day at school to start off with so he was a little lost to his dad's humor... which he was now sure that his dad had caught because Burt was watching him carefully when he came out of the locker room/construction zone.

He smiled despite himself, not because he knew his dad needed the reassurance but for the knowledge that his dad really cared about him. Being gay was not going to change that... so getting teased for it would not change it either. He just had to make it through the dismal place that McKinley High was.

Even if there was one more person to add to the list of people that hated him, Kurt could deal because the list was already miles long.

What difference was one Blaine Anderson going to make anyway?

* * *

Apparently, a big one.

He did not call him names or push him into lockers or slushie him or throw him into dumpsters...

He watched.

Blaine Anderson watched while others would look away, pretend not to see or look down out of shame, fear, the plainness of just not knowing what to do or not caring at all.

He looked at Kurt and saw what they did to him. Golden eyes boring into Kurt and seeing his soul, seeing his pain—and just _watched_. Their beauty got to Kurt. Spoke to him in the most unexplainable way. But he could not help but resent them. Blaine just stood there and watched, after all.

...and maybe eventually Kurt could have gotten over that. Yes, it was just looking. But he had seen people watch before; that's what the Neanderthals did every day anyways, watch their handy-work and enjoy the fallout.

Blaine did not have a tell, though. The blue-eyed teen never knew what he was thinking, what he felt about the way Kurt was treated... if he was just waiting for his turn.

Only one thing seemed to be the constant theme every time Blaine came across him: "Closet-case."

It had only taken Kurt until the second day of wearing his shop clothes that he realized that Blaine thought that Kurt was not "out".

Not that it was really any of his business anyways, but Kurt had to wonder if he explained the situation to the teen that he will have some sort of revelation and help Kurt with the bullies. Then again, Kurt does not want to talk to him. Yes, the bullying was bad, and now that someone was watching, acknowledging his pain—it was just that much more humiliating; but he would much rather have Blaine's silent watching to his joining in on the bashing.

...but why would Blaine care at all?

Kurt could understand being bullied more by being "out" than being "in the closet", it just did not make sense why the other teen was mean to Kurt for the contrary. Not unless he was upset the Kurt was _not_ "out". Like he was not being honest with himself.

Which was just ridiculous... but it kind of made sense in a weird, head-ache inducing way as Kurt tried to think about "Why?" it did.

With as much as he wanted to leave the subject well enough alone (because he was tired of said head-aches) and try to move on with his life, Blaine Anderson continued to confound him.

The most recent was as Blaine grabbed him by his wrist and drug him into the nearest boy's bathroom. The shorter teen glared at a boy that had just started over to the urinals before he quickly turned about and ran from the room.

Kurt was too afraid of what was about to be done to him that he could not pull his hand out of Blaine's (surprisingly gentle) grip; a surprisingly large amount of unimaginable things circling around and around in his head.

Hazel-gold eye blazed when they finally turned to him and Blaine sneered, "What's you deal?"

Kurt blinked, fear leaking away to confusion, "My deal?"

"Yeah," the curly-haired teen spat, "I heard about you taking shit from those assholes for _years_ and you can't even take _two days_ of me calling you a closet-case without changing your image!"

Blue eyes looked down at the clothes (a smart mix of McQueen and Ralph Lauren) he was wearing just as Blaine motioned towards them, and the feeling of confusion quickly ebbed away into anger. Kurt, surprisingly, found himself glaring back at the teen with just as much fire. "Don't you dare judge me," he said, snatching his hand away with new found vigor. "You've only been here just as long and know nothing about me! I have been out and proud since last year, and I always wear clothes that suit my taste. The only reason that I wore the clothes I did the last two days is because my dad decided to remodel the locker room at his garage! My clothes are too damn expensive to be just placed all about! I wore those clothes as a small compromise! So _excuse_ me for not meeting your expectations as a gay, flaming teen the first time you saw me! I'll be sure to change who I am, just for you, next time I need to help my dad at his work."

Kurt panted as he came to a stop in his rant, the rage he felt sinking away with each word he spoke aloud and slowly morphing into a satisfied feeling; happy with himself that he stood up in this small way. Even more, he felt confident in taking a jab at the teen that stood before him, the glare in the honey orbs long faded into an unrecognizable look.

"Besides," Kurt continued, "for someone who wears the grunge look, you care a lot about what other people do. Your slight indifference, strong and tough, lone wolf exterior is more suited for the 60's bad-boy than an uncaring 80's grunge wannabe." With that, Kurt was the one to turn away and walk away this time; but not without some choice words to himself in his head about how absolutely amazing and stupid he had just been.

He might have made an enemy for himself, a _real_ enemy; through his own devices too. He still allowed himself to bask in the feeling of finally standing up.

...at least until he realized that he complimented Blaine in a way.

Kurt had been trying to insult his clothes in only the way that a true fashionista could, and he had gone and given the teen a compliment—maybe even revealing his attraction for Blaine.

He choked back a suffering whimper, _I might as well have signed my will. _Blue eyes stayed trained on the floor as he walked on to his next class, _Blaine Anderson is going to ruin my life, one way or another._

* * *

**A/N: Not what you were expecting, was it? We'll see a change in both Blaine and Kurt (like what was mentioned in the previous chapter), the way the act towards each other and the people around them. I've always been really attracted to the idea of Badboy!Blaine so I'll probably visit this verse as often as ****_Autocorrect_****. **

**Speaking of which, I'm updating ****_Autocorrect_**** tonight as well, so keep an eye out. **

**Thanks for the reviews and interest on this one and I hope, to those who asked and wished to see more of it, that this satisfied some of the craving!**

**Until next time,**

**Anjel Starlight**


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